


That First Time We Met

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Kissing, M/M, Not actually cheating, OC mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bilbo accepted a job offer to be a lyricist, he didn't expect the band's lead to make another sort of offer entirely...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step into the Room

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a ficlet.  
>  ~~Also I'm home and the internet was supposed to be working but isn't. I'm going to try posting from my phone so forgive any formatting errors.~~  
>  So it turned out that I can't copy paste with my phone, so I'm posting it now, about two days late. Bah!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet.

The last thing Bilbo wanted to do was leave his bed.

 

It was warm and comfortable and tempting, not least because of his bedfellow – the mess of blankets – beside him. His boyfriend – admittedly only tempting when awake – had only just returned to the country and Bilbo had missed him. It was nice having him back, if only to make horrible jokes and massage Bilbo’s feet and reach the high shelves. Last night they’d had dinner at his favourite pub, making up for time apart, and had bought ice cream to eat on the walk back home, fingers tangled as they spoke of everything and nothing. Falling into bed completed what was a pretty perfect day.

 

(And he meant ‘falling into bed’ in the most innocent of ways; they’d done reunion sex the afternoon before, after his boyfriend had woken up from his jetlag-induced coma.)

 

The soft patter of rain on the windows was yet another reason to damn wakefulness and burrow further into the blankets. But no, his phone blared and Bilbo hurriedly swatted at it. His effort to be considerate was wasted since there was no pause in the snoring next to him, but it’d made him sit up and more likely to get out of bed – so he did. He stumbled into the shower, brushing his teeth under the spray of hot water, and had breakfast once he was dressed.

 

By the time he put his dishes in the sink the clouds had mostly dissipated and the sun shone weakly through them. His boyfriend hadn’t woken, only moved to cover most of the bed, and Bilbo shook his head. He locked the front door behind him.

 

His destination was the Imladris Hotel, which was right across town, so he’d left early enough to be able to walk there. (Bilbo was not overly fond of cars and even less fond of two-wheeled vehicles. He could always trust his feet.) It was also early enough that he didn’t have to stop and chat with anyone he knew, which suited him just fine. There were too many relatives here and Bilbo would’ve escaped if he didn’t love his home so much.

 

Passing the Greenwood bakery, Bilbo peered interestedly at the muffins and wondered if there’d be any left later for his walk back home. He waved at Tauriel through the window. She mouthed that they had his favourite almond cookies; that had Bilbo grinning all the rest of the way. They’d serve as consolation or celebration, depending on the outcome of this interview.

 

As far as Bilbo understood, this was the last interview of this particular job’s hiring process, and was less of an interview than a ‘final meet with potential employer to see if working together was possible’ sort of thing. So he sort of had the job, but not yet.

 

Of course, Bilbo didn’t _really_ need to work. He was fairly well off and owned his own house and he already did what he loved doing. But while he was a writer, he was an unpublished one. Even finding an editor was proving difficult, and in the meantime Bilbo wanted something to occupy his time and keep him from going mad.  (Especially seeing as he was alone at home a lot of the time.)

 

Hopefully landing this job (officially) would help with that.

 

* * *

“Ah, Mr. Baggins, you’re early.” Mr. Balin Fundinson was a stocky man with a white beard he was very proud of – and he should be, given its length and neatness. He wore a deep red suit and propped the door open with one shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

“You as well.” He returned Balin’s smile, rising to shake his hand; the heavy ring on Balin’s thumb was cool to the touch. “Though I do wish you’d just call me Bilbo.”

 

“If you’ll call me Balin. You ought to, anyhow, seeing as we’ll be working together – least, until you’ve settled in and I can retire.” He winked. “Which is my roundabout way of saying: welcome.”

 

Congratulatory cookies it was, then. And perhaps his boyfriend would be amenable to congratulatory sex as well.

 

Patting Bilbo’s shoulder, Balin let the door swing closed behind them. This was a smallish conference room with just one table surrounded by chairs. Swathes of sheer curtains covered one wall, turned shimmering with rays of sunlight shining through. The other walls were pale blue and the ceiling seemed lit from within. There were even plants, pots with slender young trees in a corner. It was remarkably calming.

 

Still, Bilbo had nervousness niggling at him. “I thought I’d have to meet with the other band members first?”

 

“That’s true, but… well, they’ve just returned from tour and most of them are with their families. I didn’t have the heart to part them. But our lead is in town and said he didn’t mind popping in.” Balin waved Bilbo over to the table and indicated that he take a seat in one of the elegant chairs. He sighed. “He’s late, though. Either that or he’s gotten lost.”

 

“Is he new in Hobbiton?” Bilbo asked. Balin’s tone hinted that getting lost was not uncommon for this person; if he was so directionally challenged, then why not put him up in this hotel? It was well within the band’s monetary capabilities, and would’ve been simpler all around. Some lead singers – the ones that always appeared in the news – were stubborn and temperamental though. Was this fellow one of them?

 

“No, no. Just… bad at directions. He’ll get here eventually.” Balin chuckle was fond and he smoothed down his beard. “He doesn’t have ultimate say in any band decisions, but it’ll be best for everyone if he _does_ like you.”

 

Bilbo said nothing to this. He didn’t know how to make anyone like him just based on a first impression. A prime example was his boyfriend, but they’d eventually worked past that initial loathing to the strong relationship they had today.

 

“While we wait, won’t you look through the contract?”

 

It was an impressive stack of documents, at least an inch thick. Bilbo considered it with more than a little trepidation. He tried to cover it by looking up at Balin. “Do I finally get to know which band I’ll be working with?”

 

He would be (was?) this band’s lyricist – Gandalf had been the one to plant the idea in the first place and had also been the one to suggest his name to Balin. Bilbo had taken an immediate liking to Balin – he’d proven to be kind and clever – and looked forward to them possibly working together. But there had been one condition to applying: Balin reserved the right to withhold the identity of the band and its members.

 

Bilbo supposed that this was a good idea; he wouldn’t be biased about who he would potentially work for. Presumably it also went both ways and the band didn’t know who could be working for them. The only problem had been that the sample lyrics he sent in might not even have gone with their style of music, but so far they’d liked what he’d written. Apparently they liked it enough to give him a try.

 

“Ah, since you’ve gotten this far, you deserve to know.” Balin grinned. “Have you heard of The Company?”

 

 

“Yes.” Bilbo cleared his throat and hoped he didn’t look as shocked as he felt. “A bit hard not to, really. They liked my songs?”

 

“Oh, aye. Our songwriter, Ori, he especially liked them. He’s already put the lyrics of one of the songs to music, and the lads have started on it. I think they’ll be happy with you.” He patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “It’s good that you know of them. I wasn’t sure they’d be to your taste at all.”

 

That… The Company was very much a metal band and Bilbo most definitely wasn’t. He looked down at himself, with his not-very-metal cardigan waistcoat and his quite ordinary worn slippers. Yup, nothing metal there (discounting the literal metal of his brass buttons). So he didn’t blame Balin for his conclusion.

 

“I’ve found it best to know a little about everything,” Bilbo said. It was a lesson learned at his father’s knee. “You never know when things can come in handy.”

 

“That’s true enough.” Balin looked at the door, and when no one knocked on it or pushed it open, took a seat beside Bilbo. “Shall we see if everything is to your liking?”

 

The contract was filled with the fiddly language that all contract-makers were fond of, and Bilbo would need to arrange for a lawyer to look at it. That was probably the best course of action. He felt like he’d go cross-eyed and he was only skimming through the usual clauses regarding payment, benefits, privacy clauses, et cetera.

 

Certain words caught his eye, however.

 

“Incineration?” His eyebrows had climbed up his forehead.

 

Balin’s expression was far too grave to suggest that this was put in as a joke. “It’s happened.” He offered no further explanation than that; Bilbo wanted to ask, but didn’t. Better to be ignorant than be scarred and fearful of a ‘what if’.

 

Definitely needed a lawyer for a second opinion. It was doubtful that Balin – or The Company – would want to pull one over Bilbo, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Balin’s kindness could have been a front to trick him into a 20-year exclusive contract in which he’d have no credit for any of the lyrics he wrote – not probable, still possible.

 

He’d just gotten to the (worrying) part concerning funeral arrangements – if nothing else this contract was a thorough one – when the door barged open without any prior knocking.

 

In strode Thorin Oakenshield.

 

Of course Bilbo knew him from the posters and the telly. He was the lead singer of The Company – there was a reason it was often termed ‘The Company of Thorin Oakenshield’ –, with a voice that was deep and rich and capable of calling forth blind promises to follow him to the ends of the earth. (Okay, maybe that hyperbole went a little too far.) He sometimes contributed more than his voice, accompanying the band’s rock music with his harp.

 

Sometimes people were too talented for their own good.

 

He also knew that ‘Oakenshield’ was a stage title chosen for doubtlessly personal reasons. Durin was his actual name, and he was one in a long line of musical performers. Even those ignorant of the music sphere had heard of the family, had heard of their apparent disgrace, and had subsequently heard that Thorin had reclaimed their name.

 

And finally Bilbo – along with a huge swathe of the population – knew that Thorin was attractive. Painfully so. He was tall(er than Bilbo) and broad shouldered, dark hair falling past his shoulders. His eyes were often lined to accentuate his pale blue irises and his facial hair framed thin lips that often twisted into a smirk. The instances where he was shirtless (promotional photos or while onstage, say) purportedly caused proposals of marriage and/or fainting.

 

(Bilbo did not swoon or suddenly fall in love – the man he called boyfriend was not Thorin Oakenshield.)

 

Now Thorin was wearing a plum coloured shirt with jeans and black boots, and had a leather jacket with fur trim hanging carelessly from two fingers. Bilbo noted a ring on his index finger but no other jewellery was visible (public speculation, however, supposed at more intimate ornamentation).

 

Bilbo was peripherally aware of Balin speaking. He felt a little guilty about his inattention, perversely occupied with watching the play of expression across Thorin’s face. What did Thorin think about his presence?

 

The singer (and harpist) let nothing slip though. He considered Bilbo for a long minute before declaring, “So. This is our lyricist.”

 

Bilbo spoke before Balin could. “Yes.” His tone was cool. “Bilbo Baggins.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Bilbo folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. He hadn’t stood when Thorin had (rudely) walked in and he didn’t stand now. It would emphasize their differences in height and every other physical aspect. After all, he wasn’t a rock god and could not – would not – compare himself to one.

 

Thorin didn’t look away from him, swinging his jacket so it was draped over one shoulder, putting his free hand into his pocket and cocking his hip in the effortless manner of someone who knew he was attractive.

 

(Bilbo had ample experience with this, but they were always tamped by the fact that his boyfriend was a _huge_ dork and would often spoil this glamourous image by virtue of opening his mouth.)

 

Balin broke the loaded silence between them with a snort. He shook his head when they both turned to him. “This doesn’t bode well, does it?”

 

“It’s only been a minute. I think it was you who said that this decision shouldn’t and wouldn’t be based on first impressions alone.”

 

“I’m amazed you were listening to me.” Balin grinned when Thorin grumbled, and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile as well. “Fine, I’ll leave you two alone. I missed my breakfast anyhow.” He paused before he reached the door. “I’d better not come back to find both of you with locked swords.”

 

Bilbo couldn’t help a thread of annoyance, Balin’s good intentions regardless, but decided not to point out that they were both adults. He said nothing and neither did Thorin; they watched Balin’s parting wave and watched the door close. Then they went back to looking at each other.

 

“So what _was_ your first impression?” Bilbo finally asked.

 

The man tipped his head. “What do you mean?”

 

“Your first impression of me. Would it’ve been enough to hire me?”

 

“Do you want to know?”

 

He obviously wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

 

Thorin licked his lips. “I thought of hiring you for something else altogether.”

 

“…excuse me?”

 

“You asked.” His gaze dipped and then flicked back up to Bilbo’s face. “No need to sound so scandalised. I’m just looking.”

 

“Look somewhere else,” Bilbo retorted, ignoring the way his ears burned. He hadn’t expected that sort of a reply, certainly not from Thorin. His voice sounded so smooth and his confidence was alluring. Not that Bilbo was thinking of such things.

 

No, he was definitely thinking about the way Thorin had first looked at him, how his surprise had been clear right until his eyebrows came down and furrowed. That wasn’t the expression of a person attracted to another. Probably. Maybe. Bilbo inwardly shook his head. This was meant to throw him off; it was a challenge from Thorin to test Bilbo’s mettle and wit.

 

Alright. He’d play.

 

“My first thought when you came in was…” He delayed, gratified to see Thorin hold his breath as he waited. “You’re shorter than you are onstage.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s a pity. I’ve a preference for tall people.” Bilbo pushed some curls off his forehead. “You can’t imagine how much difference a couple of inches makes.”

 

Thorin made a choking noise, tried to cover it with a cough, and then ended up coughing for real. It was rather undignified, but the blush settled across his dark skin was fetching enough to make up for it.

 

His boyfriend blushed easily and Bilbo _loved_ it.

 

“I didn’t expect that sort of talk from someone that looks the way you do.” Thorin, who’d regained his bearing, flicked his hair behind a shoulder with a practiced flick of his head. This showed the braid he wore near his ear. “You’re more suited to teaching kindergarteners, not working for a metal band. My metal band.”

 

“Remind me to show you some more of my writing. The stuff not fit for kindergarteners.” He’d not shared such things with anyone (except with faceless internet users, under the username acorn_bb. According to them his smut wasn’t half bad). “Then you can show me your skill.” Bilbo waited a bit. “At singing, that is.”

 

Thorin shook his head. “You really think I’m going to let you boss me around.”

 

Why not? He was good at it and said so.

 

“And I’ve no choice in the matter?”

 

“Your choice here is to hire me or not.”

 

“You’re certainly not who I expected.” He shrugged a shoulder. “And as I said, depends on what kind of choice it is.”

 

“What, whether I’m in your service or _at_ your service?”

 

“You can understand that it’s a difficult choice.” Thorin looked him up and down, more slowly this time. “Though I know which way I’m leaning.”

 

“Better be careful,” Bilbo warned, semi-serious. “Don’t say or do anything you’ll regret.”

 

“Oh, I won’t regret it…” His pause was delicious. “If.”

 

“If?”

 

“We could have both choices.” Thorin’s smile promised to fulfil thoughts Bilbo shouldn’t have been entertaining. “We could…”

 

“We couldn’t.” No point being coy now. “I’m spoken for.”

 

“So am I, but who’s going to tell?”

 

Bilbo… couldn’t find a way to argue with that. Or was it that he didn’t _want_ to find a way?

 

This situation was all too surreal. He’d woken up in his little house with its big pantry and green front door, with his window boxes and his lump of a boyfriend – he’d woken up in his ordinary world and stepped into this unreality, this hotel where he was going to be part of a world famous band and said band’s attractive lead was hitting on him.

 

It was something out of a rom com (or maybe a porn flick), and Bilbo… wanted to follow through. He crossed his legs and stared at his knee so Thorin would not see his expression as, against all rules of propriety and his own common sense, he asked, “Are you honestly offering?”

 

Thorin laughed, and Bilbo would’ve flinched – but it lacked any mocking. “I’ll be happy to lock the door.” Again he chuckled, deep and inviting. “What d’you say?”

 

“I guess,” he said, slowly meeting Thorin’s eyes, “I guess what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

 

“Then come over here,” Thorin crooked his forefinger and beckoned him forward. “Stranger.”

 

In moments they were both laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done with the second bit, will be up soon.


	2. Take My Breath Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They greet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention that:  
> 1) the ever lovely alkjira helped very much by reading through and being a plot-bounce-off-er
> 
> 2) this has no affiliation to [pandamani's rock star AU](http://pandamani.tumblr.com/post/105372043049/my-second-entry-for-the-rbb-is-a-rock-star-au), nor the accompanying fics by [QueenUnderTheMountain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2779772/chapters/6235787) & [perkynurples](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2784311/chapters/6248702). But do check those out!

Thorin had chucked his jacket over one of the chairs, and then moved to perch on the edge of the table. Whether or not this was intended as a way to draw Bilbo’s eyes to his thighs, Bilbo’s eyes were drawn. He continued his inspection up Thorin’s body, hips waist abdomen arms chest shoulders neck jaw, expecting to find a smirk at checking him out so obviously.

 

Instead Thorin’s gaze was on Bilbo’s lap. His regard was intense enough for Bilbo to flush and think of some _very_ naughty things to do in this hotel conference room. The table was certainly wide and sturdy to hold both of them. Otherwise there were the plush chairs to sprawl in and a carpeted floor to kneel on.

 

 

“Eyes up here.” Bilbo smirked when Thorin blinked, brought out of his staring. “You ought to be assessing my lyric-writing abilities, not my bedroom ones. What would your band members say?”

 

“Who knows? Some nonsense.” He leaned back on his palms. This time when he parted his legs further, it was deliberate, Bilbo was sure. “I’m more preoccupied with what _you_ haven’t said.” Bilbo raised his eyebrows and Thorin clarified, “Namely how and why you’ve kept all this a secret.”

 

“ _Me_?” Bilbo scoffed. He’d have kicked Thorin for that if he’d been within range. “You’re the one talking nonsense now.”

 

“You have been very vague about your ‘interviews’.” Thorin made the air quotes with his fingers, being the ridiculous man he was. “There wasn’t any point keeping me in the dark. I mean, you know I’m –” He broke off to squint at Bilbo. “You know who I _am_ , right?”

 

“Sweetheart, I’m well aware what your job is.” _Really_. He didn’t need to be some sort of groupie to know that. (Yes, he did enjoy some of The Company’s songs, but he was not the type to attend one of their concerts. Two words: mosh pit. Bilbo shuddered.) “I only did not know you were my potential employer.”

 

“And I didn’t know we were looking for Balin’s replacement until today.” He frowned. “No one tells me anything.”

 

“Wrong,” Bilbo said mildly, “You forget what people tell you.”

 

“That’s –” Thorin caught his unimpressed look. “Not all the time.”

 

As this was as good an admission he was going to get, Bilbo accepted it without comment. Thorin didn’t have a bad memory – he certainly remembered significant dates more often than Bilbo (even though Bilbo marked most all of them in his calendar). He just had trouble retaining information that wasn’t immediately important.

 

“Are you not going to accept me as Balin’s replacement, then?” He glanced at his watch. If they finished soon they could have an early lunch at Beorn’s before the noon crowd swamped it. “Because then you’ll have to help me job search again, _without_ complaining this time.”

 

Thorin swung his legs before crossing them at the ankle. “Of course I’m keeping you. Your writing is good, Bilbo – I should’ve recognised it.” He was sweet. “We’ve already started practicing ‘The Road’.”

_Roads go ever ever on, over rock and under tree_ …

 

He’d have to insist on a private performance when they went back home. He hadn’t even thought to have Thorin voice his songs and that was something he’d have to rectify. The tiny knot of tension in his throat dissipated; he was officially The Company’s lyricist.

 

He was really looking forward to going back home, the promise of sex dimmed only slightly by the prospect of cookies.

 

“Though…” Thorin hesitated. “Isn’t this a conflict of interest thing? I’m sure there’s rules against having a relationship with your employee.”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Are you _really_ bringing that up? Let me remind you Thorin, you’re not in an office – you’re in a band. And you’re pretty much the boss.” Well, that last wasn’t really a good point to make, seeing as that meant Bilbo was still an employee. Thoughts of creative usage of the table again tugged at his mind.

 

“Well, the manager’s the boss, really.”

 

“Also, I don’t know anyone from the band,” Bilbo said, ignoring Thorin. “If not I’d’ve known Balin and he’d’ve known me.”

 

His boyfriend took this as chastisement. “I was planning on introducing you to everyone at Christmas. But for the meantime I… I only wanted to keep you to myself.” Thorin rubbed the back of his neck. He was blushing again. “It was nice – it _is_ nice that I can come home to you and completely forget about being Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

“You can still do that, darling. I’m in love with _you_ , remember? Not your stage alter ego.”

 

Thorin’s lips quirked. “Are you sure? ‘Cause I can think of a couple of things about my ‘alter ego’ that you love.”

 

“Mmmyes. You know how much I like you when you’re all prettied up.” Even the eyeliner Thorin had on now piqued Bilbo’s interest. For a minimal application of makeup, it made him look unfairly gorgeous.

 

“You’re supposed to like me all the time.”

 

He snorted. “No need to be unrealistic.” Thorin’s pout didn’t sway his opinion. “You are capable of being perfectly horrid. Remember the wall incident?”

 

“You didn’t have to bring that up.”

 

“It’s a good example.”

 

“No, it’s a bad one.”

 

Bilbo quelled his smile. “I’m only teasing.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“Oh, alright, alright.” Cleared his throat. “It was a cheap shot and I’m sorry.”

 

Thorin looked only a little mollified. “Come here.”

 

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand without question, standing and letting himself be pulled into a loose embrace. Thorin’s arms were comfortable around his waist; Bilbo fingered the collar of Thorin’s shirt. “I see you ended up liking the colour.”

 

Thorin huffed. “I’m only wearing it because Dís bought it.”

 

And not at all because Bilbo dug it out of his wardrobe and reminded him that he had more clothes than black t-shirts. Rather than bring this up, he made a vague sound of assent. He slid his forefinger down to Thorin’s first button, tracing around it before carefully ghosting a touch over the dip between Thorin’s collarbones.

 

“You’re being awfully forward, Mr. Baggins.”

 

Bilbo snorted. “This isn’t forward,” he said. Then he moved his hands down Thorin’s body, making sure to touch as much as he could, finally slipping over his hips and resting them over his arse. The fact that Thorin was sitting on the table rather spoiled his original intention to cup Thorin’s arse, but his point should’ve gotten across. “ _This_ is forward.”

 

“Allow me to respond.”

 

He gasped a little when he felt the teasing pressure of Thorin’s palm against the front of his trousers. Bilbo was nowhere near hard, but he moved closer, trapping Thorin’s hand between his body and the edge of the table. “I like your response,” he said, squeezing his handfuls. “But won’t your boyfriend mind?”

 

“Hmm.” Thorin cast a very pointed look towards Bilbo’s crotch. “From what I can see, no, I don’t think he minds at all.”

 

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, Mr. Oakenshield?”

 

Thorin wrinkled his nose, wrinkling it further when Bilbo planted a kiss on it. “Are we really doing the ‘Oakenshield’ bit?”

 

“I thought you liked the name.” Bilbo fluttered his eyelashes. “Besides, aren’t we still going with our earlier conversation? Where I’m your naïve, helpless, innocent employee, and you’re the big, strong, confident rock god?”

 

Thorin snorted loudly, settling his hands on Bilbo’s hips. “I wouldn’t ever use those words to describe you. I’m not even sure where people get that impression.”

 

“Popular culture is to blame. And bad writing.” At Thorin’s blank look, he sighed, and furthered his explanation. “I’m seen as the smaller and fairer part of our relationship. You’re the bigger, scarier one. Not to mention I prefer ‘sensitive’ pastimes like writing and gardening, whereas you’re part of a rock band. People have their preconceptions about these kinds of thing.” Bilbo frowned. “There’s stereotyping for you.”

 

“But… being short or tall doesn’t…” he broke off with a noise of frustration, unable to put words to his thought process. Bilbo didn’t blame him. “That’s so stupid.”

 

“It is. No one said these people are smart.” Bilbo twirled a lock of Thorin’s hair around his forefinger. “I suppose they can’t _really_ be blamed. They don’t know you’re secretly a big, squishy marshmallow inside.”

 

Thorin grumped. “No I’m not.”

 

“Oh, darling, you most definitely are.” He kissed Thorin’s nose again, laughing fondly when his expression remained unchanged. “You go around with… with ‘heart-eyes’, I think is the term.” He may have been reasonably active on the internet but a lot of the lingo eluded him. But he could definitely apply this particular description to Thorin; often when he smiled his eyes were particularly pale and he looked impossibly lovely and loving.

 

As they were now; apparently he couldn’t help but smile. “Only when you’re around, I’m sure.”

 

“See? Absolutely gooey.”

 

“Right, time to change the subject.” Thorin gently bumped their foreheads together. The sight of the black liner that emphasized the brightness of his eyes was very enticing. And whenever it smudged it was doubly attractive. How did that work?

 

A squeeze to his hips brought Bilbo back to the present.

 

“You know,” his boyfriend said, “I’ve not properly congratulated you.”

 

“It’s as if you read my mind. But I was thinking we could do lunch first.”

 

“Then do each other?”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo exhaled, toes curling in anticipation. Just that careless mention had him sifting through memories of dark skin lit by rays of afternoon sun, of lazy lovemaking and fast fucking, of _being_ with Thorin until nothing else mattered. “I’d like that very much.”

 

“So would I.” Thorin hooked one leg over the back of Bilbo’s thigh, keeping him in place. (As if Bilbo wanted to move.) “We can order in dinner as well.”

 

“No, we’re cooking tonight.” Bilbo prodded Thorin in the chest when he groaned. “Don’t be like that, you promised. It’s only going to take half an hour, anyhow, even with your help.”

 

“That’s really motivating me to help you.”

 

“Shush.” He rose onto tiptoe, putting his lips close to Thorin’s ear. “It’s half an hour of prep and then we’ll have an hour until the oven’s done. One whole hour to entertain ourselves.” He knew without looking that Thorin was blushing. “We can do it just like this, you up on the countertop, with your legs spread for me. A pre-dinner snack.”

 

Bilbo rocked back onto his heels. He was satisfied by the way it took a moment before Thorin’s eyes fluttered open. And yes, he was very flushed indeed. Such a darling.

 

After clearing his throat a couple of times, Thorin was able to speak without his voice breaking. “I’m certainly looking forward to that, but I _do_ really mean to congratulate you.”

 

Bilbo looked up at him, pleased down to his toes. “Thank you.” Perhaps now _he_ was heart-eyes-ing. (Whatever the proper word was.) “And thank you for hiring me.”

 

“I think Balin’s really responsible for that.”

 

He blinked. “Where is Balin?” The door was closed, and remained so when Bilbo considered it for a minute. “Won’t he be back soon?”

 

“Nah,” Thorin said dismissively. “He’s been to this hotel before, and he makes no secret to the fact that he loves the opera cake.”

 

Opera cake for breakfast? Well… Bilbo couldn’t really fault him for that.

 

“Means we still have time,” Thorin continued. “Not _that_ much time, unfortunately. But time enough.”

 

When Thorin again pressed their foreheads together, Bilbo smoothed his hands down Thorin’s shirt, ostensibly to smoothen the fabric. He thought about their previous conversation as ‘strangers’ and how silly it’d been. (And also kind of hot.) “Hey. Stranger.”

 

His answer was a deep chuckle. “‘s there something you want to say, Mr. Baggins?”

 

“You were very smooth earlier, you know. Very suave.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He hummed in assent. “Very attractive.” Bilbo pulled back a little, and Thorin watched him with half-lidded eyes. “Prefer your silliness, though.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Thorin stroked his nose along Bilbo’s. It was a lovely feeling. “You haven’t kissed me today, have you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “No, not even one goodbye. Terrible.”

 

“ _Someone_ wasn’t awake.”

 

“Never stopped you before.”

 

“Or _you_.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“You don’t make any sense.”

 

Thorin brushed some hair away from Bilbo’s face. He pitched his voice low. “You know what else doesn’t make any sense?”

 

“What?” Bilbo whispered. Their mouths brushed but neither pressed forward just yet.

 

“The fact that a shortarse like you could even _dare_ to mock my height.”

 

Bilbo’s merry laughter was caught between them as their lips met. One big hand stroked up and down his back, helping him melt against Thorin’s body. He’d cupped Thorin’s face, beard tickling his palms, angling his head to kiss him even more deeply. Thorin’s lips clung to his and Bilbo’s heart beat painfully, a reminder of how much he loved his boyfriend, this dorky, moronic, _perfect_ man.

 

They didn’t hear the door open.

 

“I thought we could all have some cake to celebrate and –”

 

Bilbo and Thorin separated immediately, staring guiltily at a wide-eyed Balin.

 

“I thought you two were getting acquainted – but not _that_ acquainted!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >=D  
> did I manage to fool any of you?
> 
> and to clarify: Thorin and Bilbo were an established relationship from before the start of this fic, they both didn't know the other would be turning up at the interview, their ensuing conversation was a front for Balin and also a sort of roleplay for them, for funsies.
> 
> So yeah. *shuffles feet* The Bilbo/Other and Thorin/Other tags weren't necessary but I like being an arsehole.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyhow! Hope it entertained.

**Author's Note:**

> (Title from Barcelona by Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé.)


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